Any Other World
by G4LL0WSC4LL1BR4T0R
Summary: The Strider and the Egbert social scenes were connected only by a few entirely random threads, and even then just barely. Their paths had crossed for the first time at a party, and from that point on they become close, slipping slowly into something more than friendship. Rated T for sexual implications, drug and alcohol use, swearing. Cover photo of Tumblr user son-prince-charmant.


A/N: Oh look, another story of absurd length that I have actually plotted out and will attempt to update regularly (haha, good one, TZ...) Like, Comment, Follow, etc. Cheers! (formatting on this site is a bitch. I'm sorry if it doesn't look too pretty.)

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Introductions are hard. Not the execution so much as figuring out the point at which to start the story telling. A good story starts long before the point at which I begin storytelling, and long after I end, but narrowing the scope of focus to the true story, what I want to convey above all else, is perhaps the biggest challenge.

I could easily give you page after page on Mr. Egbert moving to Washington with his son, or I could start before that and give gruesome detail to the death of his wife that triggered the move. I could tell you all the events that lead to her death; the way they'd gotten into an accident the week before and their car was in the shop, so instead of going on the road trip they'd planned for the weekend, they walked down to the lake. I could tell you all about the man driving the car that struck her down, and how he had received a panicked call from his best friend. I could tell you what his friend had been talking about in the car, how he'd hurt his girlfriend on accident and didn't know what to do. I could tell you how he and his friend met, or how his friend's girlfriend came to be in the wrong place in the wrong time which led to her getting hurt.

Alternatively, I could tell you about Dirk Strider, and how he'd taken his baby brother into his own custody when his mother became unfit for caring for her children. I could talk about the cause for his mother's alcoholism—how her husband and their father had been taken by lung cancer. I could tell you all that he'd started smoking after he'd found his brother's cigarettes and assumed they'd make him look so much cooler. I could explain why his brother had left the cigarettes behind when he'd rushed to see his impregnated girlfriend, though both were only 16 at the time. I could detail their relationship and blame their meeting on her father, who insisted they go to church, which she would skip and hang out back, smoking and talking with a boy who did the same.

I could tell you in as much detail as I wanted about all aforementioned characters and their backgrounds, their parents, their parent's parents, and still back until I was recounting the tale of Adam and Eve in the garden. But you know the tale of Adam and Eve, and the story I wish to tale is not of anybody's great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents. The story I wish to tell is of two boys, their unlikely encounter, and their friendship, love, and time spent together. So, all things considered, I will start with the night these two remarkable boys met.

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David Strider, or Dave as he preferred, was in some ways a vey social creature. He would go out each night, working as a DJ at a local club every other night, partying and drinking and kissing whoever was available the other nights, but he would never truly be there. His face, half hidden behind a pair of large aviators, would maintain the same perfect neutrality throughout the whole night, and no amount of intoxication could even waver the well-practiced poker-face, even if a second incredibly attractive was involved, as was often the case.

Dave had grown up in the heart of Texas, to which his lazy Southern drawl could attest, and had come to Seattle on scholarship to study film at the University of Washington. He'd gotten a job DJing at The Crux, a small semi-legal club in the sketchier part of town, working there on Mondays, Wednesday and Friday nights. He also had a paid internship at a filming and photography studio Tuesdays and Thursdays, sometimes working with the film production crew, but mostly helping prepare the models for their photo shoots. The nights he wasn't working at The Crux, he'd be attending, dancing, drinking, smoking, and often ending up exchanging desperate touches with a stranger in the alley running behind the club. Even though he would go out of his way to party and surrounding himself with people, he valued the time to himself more than anything else. He would spend a lot of unnecessary time in his darkroom-turned-closet while the photographs developed, and when he wasn't with his camera or partying, he could be found either mixing his 'totally ill beats' or sitting on the roof with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he gazed at the sky.

While Dave's habits and social life may seem relatively usual for a 23 year old university student, everybody who met him would agree that he was entirely unique—though some would not put it so kindly—and almost completely impossible to understand. He would often come off as hostile because he never smiled, but it wasn't as if he frowned either. His sense of humor was sarcastic, ironic, and sometimes highly complicated. He would speak using long and complex metaphors, using his acute awareness of his surroundings to his advantage. He would store everything in his mind and then fire it out at will, almost always guaranteeing his triumph in any fight. His brother had raised Dave since he was three, so Bro was responsible for teaching Dave to fight with both a cut-throat wit and using katana, which would do the same in a far more literal sense.

The way Bro had raised Dave since they were 19 and 3 respectively would probably seem cruel to an outsider. The elder had essentially kidnapped Dave after deciding he'd had enough with their mother, who was too drunk to even care that her sons were gone. Bro had raised Dave the best he knew how, teaching him everything he knew, which included a highly pessimistic and detached view of the world. It was Bro whom had taught him to keep a stoic front, how to beat almost anybody down verbally or physically, and, ultimately, to live life on the fast track. Dave had taken it all to heart, especially the latter.

It stark contrast to Strider, there was John Egbert. John had grown up in the tiny town of Pleasant Grove Washington with only his father. He had incredibly average features, save for his astoundingly blue eyes that peered through bulky glasses at the world around him. He had come to UW on a scholarship to major in biology, and had made a small but loyal group of friends. He kept his grades up and his head low during class, spending his free time sprawled on the lawn with his friends or in cooped up his apartment, marathoning B movies. He had a spoiled, father's-boy attitude, taking attention for granted and lacking a few important life-skills, like cooking or home maintenance, though his job at the campus coffee shop taught him how to make a wonderful cappucino. Taken all in all, he was a rather boring and predictable character, perhaps even a bit annoying.

The Strider social scene and the Egbert social scene were connected only by a few entirely random threads, and even then just barely. Their paths had crossed once about a week prior at a party. Normally, John would have never even heard the party mentioned, let alone attend, but the cute girl he sat next to in Calculus invited him. Her name was Vriska Serket, and she had extended the invitation purely on a whim to tease him. She'd never expected his acceptance. Either way, she gave him the information after class, neglecting to mention the drugs that would undoubtedly be used. Poor, naïve John had only talked to Vriska in class and next to nothing about her. But she was charming and articulate and _very _persuasive, and he had been raised to be a gentleman and a gentleman would certainly not turn down such a beautiful girl.

The next night John was at the club, standing nearly paralyzed against the wall. She'd said it was casual, but he hadn't realized that _casual _meant everyone would be involved in a giant orgy-like dance, dressed in as little as they could without being arrested for public indecency, spilling their alcohol over themselves as they moved in a way that reminded John of a massive heart, pulsating in the center of the room. As always, his emotions were expressed clearly on his face and Vriska was taking great delight in it.

"Are you having fun, Johnny?" She had to shout to be heard over the pounding baseline, running a hand lightly over his chest.

"I... I should probably go." John said, a nervous smile flickering over his lips as he tried desperately to pretend everything was fine.

"Oh, come on! You haven't even danced!" She giggled, taking his hand and pulling him towards the floor. He tried to pull away, but her grip was strong and he had no choice but to follow her. Once they reached the dance floor, she began to move against him.

There was absolutely no denying that she was an attractive girl, especially with that lacey outfit leaving barely anything to the imagination, but John was far too intimidated by the sudden claustrophobia that began pricking goose eggs into his arms to recognize this. Instead, he glanced around nervously, trying to find the end of the mess of gyrating bodies around him. Vriska kept trying to seduce him, though, grinding her hips against John's, running her fingernails over his chest, and trying everything she could think of aside from stripping and getting on her knees right there. When nothing worked, she finally gave up with an exasperated sigh and shoved John back out of the heart of dancers, turning to a muscular and far more willing boy behind her.

John leaped at the chance for escape and half-ran from the room before he could get sucked back in, intending to get to the door and leave the whole thing behind him, but the tangle of bodies had completely turned him around and instead he found himself facing down a long hallway. At the end of the hall, which was lit only by the stray colored lights flashing through the door behind John, sat Dave Strider.

As any other Friday night, Dave had been hidden away in the booth tucked up back behind the dance floor, but he'd stepped away for a smoke break. He'd pushed his way through the crowd and then slipped down the hall. He sat heavily with his back against the wall, a few stray baselines from his pre-recorded track floated down the hall, but mostly it was just the base shaking the floor ever so slightly, pulling out his Camels and engraved Zippo. He was lighting the cigarette when there was a scuffle of feet coming down the hall and Dave's head snapped up, and his eyes, still hidden behind a set of aviators, met a set of shockingly blue ones, which were now filled with what seemed to be terror. A humorless laugh escaped Dave's lips and the boy flinched.

"You okay, dude?" Dave asked, though the answer was clear on John's features.

John shook his head, leaning against the wall slightly. He was still a good five yards from where Dave was, but the blond could clearly see the desperation on his face. "Where's the door?" John asked.

Dave contemplated the question for a moment, then stood up and held out his hand. "Come here." John raised an eyebrow and swayed uncertainly, so Dave added, "I don't bite. 'Less you want me to."

John moved forward slowly until he was standing directly in front of Dave, confused. Was Strider going to show him the way out?

Dave noticed John's eyes shifting around the hall, so he shook his head and held out the cigarette.

John laughed. It was short, mirthless, derisive, shaking his head. "Dude, no way. I don't smoke."

Dave rolled his eyes, not that John could see, and fit the cigarette back between his lips. "Suit yourself." He held out his now empty hand. "Dave Strider."

John gave the offered hand a quick shake, wondering how much longer Dave Strider was going to waste his time. "John Egbert."

"Egbert? Seriously?" Dave said, the sneer clear in his voice though not on his lips.

"Yeah, I know." John replied shortly, an irritated twitch touching the corner of his mouth. "Where's the door?"

Dave sighed inwardly, though his expression never faltered, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "There's one down the hall. You drunk?"

John considered the question for a moment, and then shook his head. He had drank a bit, but it wasn't nearly enough to get drunk. Most of the unsteadiness he was currently experiencing he decided to put down as his nerves. "No?" The answer itself wasn't a certainty, but John spoke with an upward inflection to indicate his curiosity as to why Dave had asked.

"Wondered if I should give you a ride home." Dave explained with a nonchalant shrug. "Which, I guess, makes me sound like a rapist since we just met, but I just fucking hate drunk drivers. Those shitheads get a special ring of hell with child rapists and people who talk in movie theaters." As he spoke, he turned to let John pass, but John just gave him a peculiar look.

"Did you just quote Firefly?" He honestly hadn't pinned Dave for the quote-movies type.

For the first time, Dave's poker face wavered and he smirked slightly. "Yeah, man. Shit was a good fuckin' show. But, like, who wouldn't love a space cowboys? 'Specially with that quirky River Tam. Gotta love the psycho genius chicks. That's probably, like, the first rule of movie watching; everybody's favorite character is the one who can kill you in the most ways. Or just Summer Glau, 'cause she pretty much always plays the deadliest characters. Fuck, she's my favorite character in movies she's not even in." Dave suddenly became aware of the odd look he was getting from John, and stepped further back, gesturing down the hall. "So, um, bye."

John had been staring at Dave during his whole spiel, and when Dave had suddenly trailed off, he became aware that Strider was, perhaps, even more awkward than him. He could feel a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, and he couldn't help but reply. "I dunno, Kaleigh is pretty great."

Dave's eyebrows barely even twitched upward, the only physical reflection of the surprise he felt. "Kaleigh? Yeah, she's pretty cool, but can she kill you with her mind?"

John smiled. A full, genuine smile and Dave noted that he was in need of braces because his front teeth were overly large. Though Dave didn't mind, thinking it only added to his suddenly blooming personality. "Yeah, okay, I guess I do like River better too. But Zoe is clearly the coolest chick on the ship. Especially in the movie." Even John's voice was affected by the smile, and Dave couldn't help but smile back, though not nearly as fully.

Then, Dave's smile faltered and his eyes widened behind the glasses. "Holy shit, did you just say movie? Please say you mean like, actually fucking movie and you aren't just misspeaking and you really mean the show because if there is a movie, I think maybe there might actually be a God. And by God I mean Joss Whedon and all of his epic glory, because he is pretty much one of the best directors, writers, producers, everythings and I am in love with him completely unironically."

John cut off Dave, chuckling slightly at the excitement that had just lit Dave's features. "Yeah, there's a movie. Serenity. And two comic books for what happens between the show and the movie, and a third explaining who Sheppard Book is."

For a second, John thought Dave was going to pass out on him. Then, almost as easily as it had formed, his excitement fell back into a serious expression. "Are you an angel?" He asked, catching John off guard. "Because I swear you came out of nowhere and gave me the best news of my life so either you are an angel or the second coming of Jesus himself, though I'm pretty sure Jesus was intended to piss people off and point out all their bullshit and hypocrisy. So I guess that would make you an angel, because they tend to bear good news. Actually, that's not true either. They're like, Joss-God-Whedon's badass heaven-army, aren't they? Legit winged fucking fury of God and all that. Fuck, how bad would it be if you were attacked by an angel? They would totally fuck with you first and make an example of you before smiting you. Like, full on swooping out of heaven in all their feathery glory and claw your eyes out like a God damn raptor. Caw caw, mother fucker, you're goin' to hell." Dave was talking fast, and hadn't realized how off track he'd gotten until John cut him off.

"Yeah, dude. I'm heaven's raptor-warrior, come to show you the light of Serenity. But as soon as you turn your back, I'm gonna gank your ass, so watch out." John replied, laughing.

"Oh shit, dude. Shouldn't have gotten on God's bad side. Tell me, was it my love for dick that damned me?" Dave replied, keeping a straight face while John failed.

"No, man. God hates _figs. _It was a typo." John said, biting down on his lower lip to keep from laughing again. "What got you was loving River more than Zoe."

Dave sighed dramatically. "I can't help the way I was born." He announced. "River just speaks to me on a spiritual level, you feel me? Wait, please don't feel me. You'll probably literally boil my internal organs."

John couldn't hold it in anymore. He leaned his head back and his laughter echoed down the halls. Dave chuckled as well, but it was mostly at John's inability to hold his own. When John had caught his breath, Dave said, "Hey, so, you're not big on crowds, but do you wanna come chill in the booth with me? I'm the DJ and I got a pretty sweet set up, and you're not too bad for an angel."

John hesitated, but shrugged. "Sure, why not!"

And so the two pushed their way back through the crowd together. Inside the booth was completely sound proof, the only noise coming from headphones laying on the desk by the sound board. Dave let John sit in the only chair and plugged in an extra pair of ear buds for him. As John slipped the ear buds in his ears, Dave held his hands carefully over the board, his hips beginning to move slightly to the beat. At some cue, lost on John's amateur ears, Dave began the shift into the unmixed tracks. His fingers flew easily over the knobs, buttons, screens, and lights—none of which John could even begin to hope to understand. John didn't recognize any of the songs, but since he had been a pianist since he was five, he could appreciate the flow and beat Dave was obviously completely in tune with. The transition from song to song was effortless, and Dave was soon moving not just his hips, but his whole body in time with the beat, even giving an extra flourish of his wrist when allowed. John was transfixed moreso by Dave's movements than the music in his ears.

Almost an hour passed before Dave remembered he'd invited John up to the booth and was probably being terrible company. He transitioned into another pre-mixed track and turned to face John, shifting his headphones so only one was on his ear. Even though Dave's eyes were covered, John could tell that he was taking everything in, and it made him slightly uncomfortable. It was a good minute before John broke the silence, unable to take the awkwardness anymore.

"That was pretty good." He admitted, not about to admit that Dave's body had been what truly fascinated him.

"Pretty good?" Dave said, feigning offense. "Pretty good? I'm surprised you and Jesus-Whedon aren't begging for me to join heaven to serenade y'all with constant ear-gasmic mixing _gold. _I am better than pretty fuckin' good. I am the best of the fuckin' best, thank you very much."

John chuckled. "Okay, sure, but it's not really my type of music, you know? I grew up with, like, Fred Astaire and 20's swing so the whole electronic thing is just weird to me."

"Fred Astaire?" Dave asked, incredulously. "I wasn't aware there was anybody else my age who even knew who he is. Jesus, boy, I need to get you into some decent shit."

"That's what I grew up on!" John defended. "Blossom Dearie, Chuck Berry, George Thorogood—the most risqué I was ever allowed to go was The White Stripes or Johnny Cash."

"Okay, I'll give you The White Stripes and George Thorogood, but I can't forgive you for the rest." Dave said, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest. "Actually, you get points for The White Stripes if you can name Jack White's new bands."

"The Raconteurs." John said, proudly. "Also the drummer for The Dead Weather."

"Okay, good. I am far less disappointed in you. I actually have done a mix of Aluminum, but it's not in this set. Fuckin' best guitarist out there, so far as I'm concerned."

"He's good." John agreed. He'd honestly never been the type of person to note those types of things unless they really jumped out at him, unlike Dave who was a professional musician. Instead of carrying on with this subject and probably embarrassing himself further, he changed the subject. "So, you're from the South?"

"Houston." Though Dave's face didn't change, his tone had a clear hint of disgust at the word. "Born an' raised."

"So why'd you come to Washington?" John asked, frowning. With the sunglasses and the sun-bleached hair, Dave definitely seemed like the type to stick to the heat.

"School." Dave replied, almost too quickly. "I go to UW. Majoring in film, an' they got a pretty fuckin' decent program."

"Hey, me too!" John perked up again. "I mean, I go to UW. I'm not in film. I'm not in anything, really. I mean, I'm getting a minor in Biology, but only because it's really easy for me. I'll probably end up getting a master's in chem or something."

"Oh God, you're a science geek? The fuck are you doing in this place? Jesus, you even look the part." Dave raised an eyebrow and John could tell that he was looking over his face.

Heat pushed its way up into John's cheeks, and he glared back at Dave. "Fuck off! I had to go to college somewhere, and UW gave me a good price 'cause I'm from Pleasant Grove and I've always been good in science, so I'm just going for easy A's. I don't have any interest in this shit." His shoulders hunched slightly, and Dave lifted his hand.

"Woah, dude. I was only fuckin' with you. No need to get all tight-ass on me. Can barely get my fuckin' dick out." Dave deadpanned, but at the look—a mixture of confusion and disgust—on John's face he just sighed. "Never mind. What do you wanna do with your life, then?"

John frowned slightly, wondering if he should in fact tell Dave, who would undoubtedly tease him about it. Fuck it, he decided. "I'm gonna be a comedian."

There was the minute of awkward silence that normally fell after John made the announcement (aside from the occasions where the other party started laughing immediately), but instead of the teasing John was sure would come, Dave nodded. He crossed over to his bag and pulled out a business card and handed it to John. "You ever need a friend in the film industry, which you undoubtedly will because the film industry is the center of everything ever, you can hit me up."

Dave looked like he wanted to add more, but John cut him off. "Are you fucking serious?"

Dave frowned slightly. "Am I not supposed to be?"

"No, dude, that's awesome." John found himself grinning widely at the card that was now in his own hands. "Like, nobody has taken me even remotely seriously before. They're always patronizing and rude and it's totally shitty, but you are actually serious about helping me. It's... Heh, it's new."

Dave smirked. "Fuck, I ain't gonna shit on anybody's dreams. Figure if you do make it big, you can be like 'oh yeah, that Dave Strider is so cool and dreamy and nice and he was the only one who believed in me' and all the gushy bull and my popularity will go way the fuck up even though I fully plan on being number one in the fuckin' world. Or, you know, we could reverse that shit and I'll be like 'oh yeah, the John Egbert dork is pretty fuckin' cool and I helped him get famous' and then my countless fans will totally be all over your ass, too. Which is the far more likely scenario, because I am already on my way up."

John pulled out his phone and punched in Dave's number, and email, then handed the card back. "I will totally take you up on this, you know." He said, earnestly.

Dave couldn't help but smile slightly at John's happiness. "You fuckin' better. I don't just give my number out to any old science nerd. Actually, you better be fuckin' good to make up for you dorkiness."

John's cheeks flushed slightly at the jab, but he was grinning too hard to be angry. "At least I have help from the best of the best, right?" He said sarcastically.

Dave's smile widened, almost showing teeth. "Fuck yeah you do."


End file.
